


Normal Mortal Shenanigans

by ushauz



Series: Tales of Desire [2]
Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types
Genre: Demons, Gen, Liberal Amount of Headcanons, Spirits, The Fade
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-09-04
Updated: 2018-01-12
Packaged: 2018-12-23 23:24:23
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 5,020
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12000117
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ushauz/pseuds/ushauz
Summary: A side story collection for A Herald Named Desire, for all those things I couldn't shove into the main fic.





	1. Stumbling Towards Desire

Sometimes, embarrassingly, a spirit or a demon might get it wrong their first couple of tries. And not like, I have changed over the years and have slowly moved down a different path. Or, due to trauma I am now reflecting my Domain differently. Or like, centuries have passed and now this idea has shifted in the minds of mortals, and since I spend too much time around mortals like a codependent asshole, I too have shifted. Or even, concepts moved towards are forever out of reach, and identity is a constant growing thing built upon knowledge and experiences and ideals. But along the lines of like, there was a path, and I managed to completely miss it and get stuck in some underbrush a ways off.

This isn’t necessarily rare, but you know, it doesn’t take a lot for most to kinda get to the point.

Absolutely unrelated, once there was a wisp. They had blundered about the Fade, exclaiming over the most basic of ideas, rolling around in dreams, making a nuisance of themself, and generally being a wisp.

You know how wisps are; we don’t have to go into detail here.

Needless to say, they were by far the cutest wisp that ever existed because the narrator is allowed to be biased here. So. Absolutely the cutest wisp that _ever_ existed.

Eventually though, this wisp decided they wanted to be bigger. There were other people about, all bigger than them, and you know what, they were going to be a big wisp. The biggest wisp there ever was! (The wisp had yet to figure out that being a bigger wisp meant growing into an actual spirit or demon, but nobody wanted to dash the wisp’s single dream they had formed of date.) So they looked at the memories and dreams that they could shove their tiny body into. They decided to figure it out themself because they didn’t want to seem stupid to other people and therefore were afraid to ask how to go about things.

After a lot of research, they concluded that people ate to get larger. This was very agreed upon by all of the information they had gathered, information from three whole dreams they were able to sit through long enough without dashing off, that people needed to consume to grow.

Well okay then, the wisp went, and then began to devour the energy they found. And they ate and ate and ate, and they did indeed grow.

And maybe they ate a few small demons that didn’t move out of the way fast enough. It’s hard to figure out what you are eating sometimes. It happens! Mistakes are made. And, sometimes, keep getting made.

Look, everyone has their hiccups at times, but eventually! The wisp came to the conclusion that eating other people was probably a bad thing to be doing and wasn’t winning them any friends. But there was something about eating, about willing consumption, that had drawn them into perhaps eating more than they should, and hence the identity of Hunger was tentatively formed.

So Hunger turned back to dreams, to thoughts of consumption. It seemed close. It didn’t fit, but it was a start to some nebulous concept still beyond their grasp, something they were just barely able to comprehend. It was a place to start, good as any, and Hunger was sure they would grow into their role. Many spirits took a bit to grow into their role! It was natural they told themself.

Somebody pointed out that maybe, just maybe the wisp shouldn’t throw themself at the first identity they found. There was no rush, no danger (at least when they were still small, definitely more of a danger the larger they got, for one must be something in the Fade.) Maybe they should ponder a bit more and not get themself stuck down a path that wasn’t theirs.

Maybe somebody got ate. Old habits die hard.

Dreamers came hungry for something or other. They had these needs: food, shelter, any other people around at all, not being stabbed to death. These needs defined their minds, and so Hunger delivered their needs, for that was what Hunger was. It took a bit, because you know, Hunger was still new to existence, but the correlating links were so vibrant in dreamers’ minds. There was a problem that they wanted fixed, so Hunger could help with that.

…it might have been stretching the role a bit much, but you know what, those other spirits could fuck off. It was rude to tell someone how to do their Domain, okay? They had this.

As it turned out, they didn’t have this, because as needs were fulfilled, dreamers began to act differently. With needs gone, wants remained, and those were so much more attractive. Those felt right in a way needs never had, and by touching wants, Hunger felt something in themself stir, something awakening beyond what they already had.

There was that overlap. People needed socialization, but they _wanted_ to socialize with this person in particular. They needed to eat, but they _wanted_ this kind of stew that reminded them of good times.

In the end, Hunger shucked off their form and tentatively stepped into being Joy. It fit both, you know? Basic wants and needs all fulfilled, person being happy, the works.

Some of the other spirits were like ‘haha I told you so’, and Joy would give them the middle finger and tell them to fuck off. He had this. Okay maybe the role chafed a little. It still wasn’t quite there, this thing, this concept he was inelegantly flopping towards, but it was a lot closer than Hunger, he could tell you that. Who knows, maybe he would grow into this identity?

Somebody pointed out that that was what he said last time. Somebody got ate.

Look, old habits die really hard, and he was mostly over the eating people thing! Give him some credit here. Also maybe stop teasing someone who spent a good chunk of time as Hunger. Never a good idea, so in a way, it was their fault to begin with.

Unfortunately for Joy, he was a ‘people person’, and he kept growing closer to the dreamers he visited. It took some effort to make things the way mortals wanted, to keep all the props and backgrounds comforting, but he got very good at it, and people were happy.

Unless they noticed him. Noticed him proper, not whatever role he was playing, noticed there was a spirit lurking about. And he was a spirit! Those were the friendly sort. But they never took it well, always yapping on and on about oh how he was trying to deceive them and how they had seen through his clever disguise and well it wouldn’t work on them, no sir.

And this kept happening. And happening. And _happening_. The best he could hope for was to cheer them up (which never quite felt like enough to him for some weird reason that had nothing to do with latent identity issues) and then send them off before they realized where they were. It was the Fade! Of course some spirit was behind the backdrop, and honestly, if he put so much work into these things, maybe they could show a little gratitude before screaming about demons. He wasn’t Desire trying to deceive them or whatever they claimed. He knew Desire when he saw one, and he certainly wasn’t Desire.

The sheer irony would get him later.

And maybe Joy stuck with it longer than he should have because eventually he attracted the wrong sort of attention and spent a trip in the mortal world, spying on people for some fucked up magister before finding a way to kill that guy off.

Joy stumbled back into the Fade, a very jaded sort and having spent some time being forced into an idea of Desire, and not realizing the entire time that it hadn’t chafed.

Well, everything else had chafed, but the whole Desire thing hadn’t.

Joy decided to at least try again. Jadedly. Usually trying to serve mortals had only gotten vicious words and the occasional fireball thrown at his face, and the idea of ‘serving’ now really threw him off.

So the next time he met a dreamer that took the single obvious step of oh hey Fade and then didn’t run screaming at him, something in him seized. So maybe he went hey. I can spin your wildest fantasies for you since I am very good at that, but in return, I want a bit of payment. Just a sliver of life from you, nothing you will be missing, nothing that won’t grow back in a week.

He had gotten a fireball thrown at his face. Typical.

People kept acting like it was the craziest thing they had ever heard of. How _dare_ he demand payment for services rendered. How dare he have the gall to consider himself an equal? He should give them their wishes for free, and then after having their desires realized and rolled around in, they could yell at him for being a monster.

It was always the ‘after’ part when they decided to start yelling. They were all good up and fine until the end, once they were all satisfied and could then yell about demons and their darn deceptions so they didn’t have to feel guilty about, you know, actually being happy in the Fade.

That was when Joy said ‘fuckit’ and slid into being Desire like everyone had been insisting he was this entire time.

But here was the thing. Even if initially he had done it out of spite, something clicked deep inside.

Hunger saw needs and moved to correct or feed off of them, at times embody and at times become the act of consumption. Hunger was stereotyped as nothing but the most literal sense of Hunger, but it was so much more, so many more needs that were Hungered for, deep and primal things lurking inside of everyone, threatening to spill out if not properly attended.

He was not this.

Joy was cheer. It was not the idea that things could be better for that was Hope, but taking comfort in what you had, delighting in the good things in life. Why not enjoy yourself as you are, approach what is within your grasp? Find happiness where you can. Not in a condescending way, but that happiness could be obtained regardless of however bad things got, that comfort and delight were never truly out of reach.

No. Not this.

To the utter surprise of no one but himself, he had been Desire. He had seen wants, seen the deepest wishes in the hearts of mortals. Dark things. Primal things. Bright things. Things within and beyond grasp.

Why only fulfill what was needed? Why settle for the way things only could be? Why not thrash and struggle, take more than what the world deemed your due? Why not take these wishes and delight in them, move according to how you wished? Not find Joy where you could, but carve it from those who would deny you otherwise, and damn the consequences.

It sang, resonated within his being, burning bright within his core until he was burning bright, flames licking out from himself, splitting into a many pronged thing with a crown to defy the heavens.

Granted, he was still himself, still the same silly wisp too embarrassed to ask, still that person who had once been Hunger, that person who had once been Joy, and he refused to deny these earlier versions of himself, for it was the path that had gotten him here, shaped his own unique approach to Desire, and that awkward stumbling path would forever be precious to him.

Well, at least then. Later he liked to pretend that the whole thing had never happened, that he had gotten it right the exactly the first time with no missteps at all. Still that same, easily embarrassed wisp at heart.

At this point, nobody told him ‘I told you so’ because people had gotten the memo about the eating thing, even if he had long moved past such bad habits and liked to pretend he never had those habits in the first place, thank you.

Many went for active dreams of the mortals in hopes of tasting the mortal world in the best form they could; demons usually. Many went for memories and stories to sharpen themselves and be and ignore that pesky mortal business; usually spirits. Desire went for neither. Desire had enough of mortals and decided to focus on the Fade, stealing what was Desired from demons, talking up what he had and trading for more precious things to hoard away.

The only complaint he had was that he was a ‘people person’, but now having assumed himself as Desire, others reacted accordingly and tended to not view his overtures of romance or friendship seriously. So maybe Desire was lonely for a while. Maybe Desire ended up clinging far too hard to the few people who did stick around. Maybe just because Desire had finally assumed his true self didn’t mean all his problems were gone forever.

But the role, the identity, the concept fit like a glove right from the start, and never once did he ever think of changing. And he spent a considerable amount of time as Desire, mind you, twice over the rough period of time he had existed to date. The end goal concept eluded him, but that’s how it was with everyone. Nobody was ever there yet, and only the most insufferable of spirits thought otherwise. The role though, the path, the approach, that sang for him exactly right, and Desire suited him just fine.

At least until the Fade spat him out onto mortal ground, soldiers running at him, and Desire had to scramble for the first idea he could so they wouldn’t kill him. He conjured up a vaguely mortal-esque shape and hoped for the best before grabbing the nearest name from the lingering dead around him:

Adaar.


	2. Valor

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Somebody once wanted some more Valor interaction I think? I have written some Valor interaction. I hope you guys enjoy!

He had stolen one memory of the Imperium of old from some Wisdom spirit that hadn’t been doing anything with it anyway. After skittering off, he went to the bazaar in mind, flitted around until he noticed something of more worth: the last writings of a forgotten nobody poet.

Obviously, the Imperium trumps a nobody poet, so he wheedled the Sloth demon sitting on their wares for such a trade.

Which was dumb, of course, because Purpose loves nobody poets who died trying to fulfill their thing, and he got a perfect rendering of the last moments of a pair of lovers.

Nowhere near what he was going for, but it was all about shifting over and increasing the base value. Next would of course be Love, trading for last battle of some broad trying to save another guy. Which was a bit too classic, so he shifted over to a different Valor spirit than the one he was targeting and who had a secret taste for cliche scenes, and then traded up to a far more prized battle of tactical brilliance.

All leading to this one last deal.

This Valor spirit considered it, flickering thoughtfully.

Desire thanked his luck that most of these people weren’t Desire and couldn’t see how much he wanted these things, otherwise forcing higher trades, possibly for him to throw something in on the side.

He would if he had to of course. He just didn’t want to.

“It’s a much larger victory,” Desire added after Valor hadn’t said anything for a frustratingly growing while.

“That it is,” Valor said, and Desire wanted to bean him over the head and just steal the damn thing. But no, that would get him barred from this bazaar, and he didn’t want to bring back another Valor spirit trying to kill him.

Valor moved to fondle the merchandise again, but Desire gave him a stern look. “I’m not having you copy it and then deciding ‘against’ my deal.”

Valor looked insulted. That was never a good look for a Valor spirit. They were, after all, Valor. Luckily, they were in a bazaar, and if Valor tried to attack him, he would be barred from further entry.

There was a reason all sensible deals went down in bazaars. It made everyone sit down and play by the rules of the area, and thus people could feel reassured enough to do their trades with little fear of being cheated and/or stolen from. At least in the bazaar.

Okay technically nobody liked someone stealing from them out of the bazaar either, but hey. That had never stopped him before.

He watched Valor carefully, and yes, that was want slowly starting to flicker to life in his core.

Ironically, people didn’t want to deal with Desire demons because of their heads up advantage. Kept thinking they were up to something, and thus they had a harder time trading in general.

Well, they were, but so was everyone else. Rude and discriminatory it was. Hurtful stereotypes.

“Fine,” Valor said, and then immediately grabbed the memory in the shape of a map from Desire’s hands. Desire grinned inwardly and took the sword. He’d been eying it for quite some time now, filled to the brim with the collected knowledge of some master swordsman or other. He didn’t care personally, but then, this wasn’t for him.

—

Valor, _his_ Valor, finally emerged from the enactment he had been in, not a massive sprawling area when many were involved, but a smaller one. It was another one of those hero things, one warrior against a near impossible foe and winning. Not that Valor didn’t enjoy playing war commander, fixating on tactical brilliance, but he liked both. Which was good! Valor had been so happy of late.

But Valor was growing more, and eventually someone would try to take that. And if it was just Valor and someone else, there wouldn’t be anyone to stop a violation of the dreams, to _kill_ instead of kill. He was of course, a strong Valor spirit, and permanently killing him would only add to another Valor spirit’s strength, or another kind along those lines. Desire couldn’t always be there watching on the sidelines just in case someone did try something. Granted, he wasn’t sure how much he could stop another powerful Valor spirit from killing somebody, but hey. Desire never claimed to be full of good ideas.

“Desire!” he said cheerfully, sliding over to where he had been waiting, remnants of the previous dream fading into Desire’s gardens.

Yup. Ecstatically happy. Valor doing Valor things.

Basic rapid thought communication: the feelings Valor had, the rush and joy of the battle, pleasure at growing stronger for such battles now, far off wishes of being the very best Valor spirit there ever was; Desire had been doing fine, no, nobody had tried anything again, very happy to see Valor again.

The scenery faded, shifting into Valor’s demesne: barracks of black stone, bronze candlesticks and flickering torches, with a deep wine rug embroidered in gold that led all the way to the center where an ornate throne sat.

Valor had a very consistent Theme he was going for. Desire was proud.

Valor flickered for a moment, floating above the floor instead of standing, because that was one of his quirks, just had to do his float thing.

“I’m sorry we haven’t had time to spend with each other of late,” Valor said, and then drew up another chair for Desire to sit on.

He’d been busying doing his single combat thing a lot.

“Maybe you can add in a swooning maiden or two for the sidelines,” Desire said cheerfully. There were always swooning maidens in those stories. Or swooning well-muscled lads. The gender of the actor rarely mattered for most people, usually more of a preference thing, and usually separate from the gender of the actual person. Desire did prefer playing men though. Slight little middle finger to all those mortals and their preconceived ideas that Desire was _always_ female and thus kept trying to subconsciously force him into a female form.

Valor laughed brightly like flames. “I shall consider it. I don’t think anyone would mind.”

It would also allow Desire to watch possessively over his spirit. Ain’t nobody trying anything. And speaking of which-

“I have a present for you!” he said brightly, materializing the sword symbol in front of him.

Valor gave him an exasperated look.

“I like showering people with presents, and you know that,” Desire said. And also ways for Valor to defend himself just in case. Gotta bulk up that Valor spirit, help him fulfill his dreams.

He still had no idea why Valor kept spending time around him, spirits usually not wanting to mingle with demons, but dammit, as long as Valor was sticking around, Desire was going to help him out, maybe even eat another spirit or demon if he had to.

…he still did know how to eat other people, something he neglected to tell most. Made them a bit twitchy.

Valor took the sword from his hands, and Desire was pleased at noting his self light up, sliding through the valuable memories and information it contained.

“This is wonderful,” he said fondly, as he summoned his own sword in front of him, a deceptively simple looking thing sheathed in violet. Valor narrowed, and then the gift faded, streaming over into other blade until only one remained, and the information locked firmly in Valor’s core.

Two blades, one suit of armor, a couple of magical focii because Valor was just as happy to use magic as well as swordsmanship, a few journals of major battles, and then one beautiful harp that had countless songs stored inside. That had nothing to do with Valor itself per se, but Valor liked it so there.

Valor gave him a side glance. “You realize that I do not plan on leaving you.”

Stupid spirit seeing right into the heart of the matter. “Yeah I know.”

Desire did not, in fact, know. People said that all the time. Never stopped them from leaving. Just words. Feelings right now, and then they would fade as they inevitably did, and they would bore and grow tired of him and drift away.

Or die. That also happened.

At times Desire sardonically thought that he had switched from bending over backwards trying to please mortals to bending over backwards trying to please random spirits/demons he met. Such good character growth for himself. So many lessons learned there. Great going, Desire.

Valor, however, was never one to abandon losing battles. “I cannot say anything to change what was, but you are my dearest friend, Desire. I shall not leave you behind. Not of my own volition. I will always return to you.” His actor tilted his head. “And I thank you for the fine gift.”

Desire smiled. “I’m glad you like it.”

He just wanted Valor to stick around. No other costs required.


	3. Overheard Conversations

Blackwall had gone to chat with Sera. He’d been _expecting_ conversation with Sera and had therefore brought food for both of them.

Sera was not talking to him, but was instead shushing him. “They are at it _again_ ,” she hissed before returning to peeking out the window.

“Who?”

Sera gestured to two figures just below the window. They were either spirits, or demons, judging by their glowing. Bit of a giveaway there.

“Do you want me to try to move them elsewhere?” Blackwall asked softly.

Sera shushed him again, giving him a very stern look.

That was certainly curious. Blackwall edged closer to the window himself, which Sera had discreetly opened a notch to get better sound.

“The story is what matters,” one of the two said emphatically, pounding a fist into one hand while also briefly flickering brighter. “The story carries the morals and emotions needed for true advancement.”

“True advancement cannot come from lies,” the other said, who held themself in an oddly stiff manner. “Historical accuracy must be held to the utmost standard!”

“All dreamers are inherently biased! All sources come with bias. True accuracy is impossible to achieve regardless, and the biases themselves are important. Biases, or _viewpoints_ , that carry their own meaning to be examined.”

Blackwall glanced over at Sera again, but her attention was fixated on the two.

“Yes, but some dreamers are less biased than others!” the stiff one said emphatically but still without movement. “And by cross-examining many who witnessed the events, the truth can be revealed. Only through truth can enlightenment be found, and only through truth can one properly understand the events that transpired.”

The other shook their head. “Events are meaningless without interpretation! Without bias, all you have are flat facts. All there is are stories upon stories that happen to people. Without these stories, life becomes flat and dull. _True_ virtue comes from the stories people see and the perception they impose upon what is happening around them. A single event can be either Despair, Hope, Fear, or Fortitude in the eyes of the beholder, and it is exactly what these people make of what is happening that is the most glorious of all.”

“But is it exactly this bias that blinds people to the truth. And should it not be upon us to seek out the truth of every matter? Is it not our job, nay, our calling, to examine to the best of our ability the truth of our Domain, of where it actually applies, and how much it can truly be seen and reflected in the unchanging world?”

Sera gently nudged Blackwall. “They’ve been at it for _days_ ,” she whispered. “They argue for about an hour every day about this time.” She whimpered. “They’ve got… actual points. Both of them. Is accuracy more important, or is the story itself better? I don’t know anymore. I shouldn’t _care_. It’s all dumb demon shit. But it makes you think, and I _hate_ it.”

Blackwall gestured at the ‘accuracy’ one. “So is that one a Truth spirit or something?”

“No. She’s Compassion. And I hate that I know that. I don’t want to know that. Story guy is ‘Charity’. Doesn’t matter, all dumb demons names that don’t mean anything. Don’t care.”

“But you keep listening in anyway?”

Sera whimpered.

“Do you want to go somewhere else?”

“No. And shut up! I’m eavesdropping.”


	4. Adaar

Leliana made the tough choices. That was her role in this. She took no pleasure in them, but some things must be done.

‘Adaar’ was no kossith. ‘Adaar’ was a demon. If word of that got out, the Inquisition would be ruined. Leliana didn’t know if ‘Adaar’ had known the real one or had pulled a name out of a hat at random. Perhaps he subconsciously drew upon a name of the dead.

The problem was that there had been a very real Adaar, and ‘Adaar’ was nothing like him. Leliana wished that he hadn’t picked the name of someone who had been at the Conclave so she wouldn’t have had to do this. On the other hand, she couldn’t fault ‘Adaar’ who had done his best under considerable pressure.

The real Adaar had an old mercenary group, now scattered. He had family back in Rivain. Adaar was boisterous and loud and rushed into battle headfirst and was very much not a ‘mage’.

Leliana wrote these facts down. She’d burn the paper after, but she needed to write them down. Penance, maybe, for what must be done. She could forget most of the people that needed to be dealt with, shrug off the clinging dead and send out her assassins once more, but she needed to remember this.

Adaar had loved his family very much and would periodically send money back to them to help them raise his three younger siblings, one who was a mage, and one that had been born with a small, deformed arm and was horribly self-conscious about it. Money was tight as kossith struggled to find jobs, and so Adaar helped when he could. His first name was Beres-taar. It meant shield, and it was the name he had taken upon adulthood. His childhood name was Hissera, hope. His parents had recently settled in the region, having fled the Qun just two years ago.

He had been an outgoing child. He loved to scrounge the beach for shells and urchins and examine tidepools for hours on end. Starfish were his favorite animal, even into adulthood, to the point where he kept a small starfish token upon himself at all times. He had been teased and ribbed about this, but Beres-taar took it all in good stride. In retaliation, he had painstakingly painted a starfish emblem on his shield and would continue to do so with every new shield he acquired.

Beres-taar insisted on taking the heavy hits in combat as he insisted he was built for it. Some joked that he seemed supernaturally resilient when it came to damage, and some wondered if those jokes had a basis in reality.

He was still very much dead. They’d never know now.

Beres-taar’s best friend was a dwarf named Yosef who came from a settlement in a forest. Yosef had long golden hair and walked barefoot and wore swirling dresses when she could and spent her time collecting and pressing flowers. Beres-taar would draw attention, and then Yosef would snipe from concealed vantage points. They would celebrate hard battles after with wine. People usually assumed they were a couple, but no, they were best friends. Not ‘just’ best friends, but _instead_ best friends.

Yosef had also been at the Conclave, along with a large number of their mercenary group, as she and Beres-taar traveled everywhere together. They had lived together and died together, and Beres-taar was dead.

And now, Leliana had to remove all traces of his existence, lest anyone find out that ‘Adaar’ wasn’t who he said he was.


End file.
